


What the Cat Dragged In

by Shiropropaganda



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, M/M, all i want is for them to be safe and happy, cat cafe fic, mentions of animal abandonment, mentions of animal abuse, modern day AU, wholesome fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 11:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15509340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiropropaganda/pseuds/Shiropropaganda
Summary: Keith is a stressed out student who finds refuge in a cat cafe.And in it's cute owner.





	What the Cat Dragged In

Keith has never really considered himself a cat person.

 There’s nothing fundamentally _wrong_ with cats, it’s just that he grew up with a dog that his parents swore was mostly wolf, and he never really had enough friends to know for certain if they had cats.

 Lance always compares his temperament to a cat though, and if that’s true then he thinks he might have found a much better place to study.

He sees the sign out of pure luck-- I don’t believe in _luck_ I believe in _serendipity_ , Lance would tell him later, proving to be the most frustrating person Keith’s ever met-- while bracing himself to go out into the swirling snow in a desperate search for a new place to go.

**Castle of Lions**  
**Cat Cafe**  
**13FL**  


He almost, _almost_ looks right past the sign, and then his phone slips from his grasp. He catches it deftly, but the tumble brings his eyes level to a disclaimer under the shop’s name.

_Please respect that this is a quiet space, all cats are rescued and appreciate your understanding!_

So… Keith may not really be a cat person, but he _definitely_ isn’t a winter storm person either, and he finds himself stomping up three flights of stairs, feeling the ache in his brain dissipate each step he takes away from Lance’s rowdy “study group” in the crowded cafe on the 10th floor.

The thirteenth floor has only one shop door in it, covered with a poster depicting five robotic cats flying through the air. Keith takes a breath, fearing the place would smell like pet food or litter boxes and steps through the door.

The cafe smells like neither, in fact the air is softly scented with sandalwood. The whole shop looks a bit like a spacious living room, with tables and chairs scattered around scratching posts and cubby holes for the cats.

 The front counter looks like a kitchen island, and sure enough, there’s a kitchen setup behind it. The woman at the counter smiles at Keith, and he feels at ease by the warmth in her eyes.

He pays the entrance fee and orders a coffee. The woman-- _Allura_ , she tells him-- presses a pamphlet into his hand about the cats in the cafe, and then turns to make his drink. The place is almost empty, save for a woman who seems to be napping in a corner, a huge, fluffy, blond cat in her lap.

There are five cats in the cafe, each named after a color and Keith chuckles in appreciation for the simplicity-- Lance named his hamster Floofer McSmoople, and Keith just… can’t.  

The cat with the napping woman is called Yellow, and Keith can spy Green and Blue playing on the rug in the center of the room, batting at each other and then leaping into boxes laying open and empty on the floor.

Keith settles into a plush chair near the entrance and pulls out his books as Allura sets down his cup and a small package of cat treats.

“You don’t need to use them,” she says softly, seeming to pick up on the uncertain way Keith eyes the little bag, “return them when you leave or keep them for your next visit.”

Keith is about to respond but she’s already walking away, Blue following at her heels as she walks back into the kitchen. The cat leaps on the counter and lets out a small sound, rubbing itself against her arm until she strokes its silky grey fur.

A sound beside him makes him turn and he finds himself face to face with a small ginger tabby standing at the table beside his own. The cat is close enough that Keith could touch their noses together but it stares at him with unblinking intensity in its gold eyes. It looks away from him, settling on the table as the bell on the door rings.

The cat regards Keith for a while longer, but makes no movement to engage in any sort of contact, in fact when Keith slowly holds out his fingers for the cat to sniff-- he read the pamphlet _okay_ \-- it rebuffs him, standing and leaping down from the table to paw unenthusiastically at some of the toys on the floor.

 “Don’t be offended,” says a deep voice behind him, “Red is pretty fussy.”

Keith looks and the man standing beside his table is a _sight_. Tall and broad shouldered, jacket and hat soaked from the snow and cheeks flushed pink. There’s a scar that stands out pink on his face, but Keith finds it endearing in an odd way. It gives the man’s face some humanity instead of just a vision of perfection with and angular jaw and strong chin.

 There’s the sound of something crashing from the back and a woosh of a shadow jetting out from behind the kitchen corner and suddenly a large black cat has climbed itself up the man's clothes and is settled across his shoulders, face rubbing sweetly against his cheek.

 “Ah!” he shouts, laughing and smashing his own face against the cat.

 It’s adorable.

 Once the black monstrosity seems content, it just drapes itself like a scarf on the man’s shoulders, its tail flicking back and forth as it eyes Keith curiously.

 “This is Black, she’s bossy and only loves me” the man explains, “I should probably introduce myself too, I’m Shiro, this is my place.”

 Shiro holds out his left hand, and Keith takes it. It takes him a good moment to realize that the man’s right hand hasn’t moved at all since they began talking, but Shiro chuckles when he sees Keith’s quick glance at his arm.

 “Lost it in the war,” Shiro says, making his voice sound deeper and older with a laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

 “I’m Keith,” he says quickly.

 Black makes a soft sound and Red is back, this time on top of Keith’s notes responding in a similar tone. Shiro frowns at the ginger cat, scooping him up in one hand and raising the cat to his eye level.

 “Don’t be rude,” he says, setting the cat down on the floor and shrugging until Black moves off his shoulders with a disgruntled look. The two cats stalk off together and Shiro rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

 “Did he mess up your work?” he asks, looking at Keith’s books.

 “Not a bit,” Keith replies, trying not to stare too hard as Shiro turns to take off his hat and coat to hang on a hook next to the door.

 Shiro is broad, muscles stretching out his long sleeved shirt. Keith needs to look down at his books until the other man drops into the chair opposite him.

 “Sorry, I won’t bother you for long,” he says, letting his head drop back, “carrying all that cat food through the snow took a lot out of me.”

 Shiro’s hair is completely white, and it shines like the flakes falling out the cafe window. Keith nods, sitting awkwardly for a moment before letting his eyes fall back to his coursework. He has the ideas to make his thesis work for him, but he’s so overwhelmed by sources and organizing his thoughts that it’s really just a dignified pile of paper at the moment.

 Shiro eyes some of the pages and grins,

 “You’re studying with Iverson, aren’t you?” His smile widens when Keith nods, “I had him for undergrad, before I enlisted, I was his assistant for a while.”

The comment nudges the social part of Keith’s brain that he’s been trying to keep quiet until his work is done, and within a few minutes they’re sharing stories and lamenting the confusing way the professor organizes his syllabus, and Keith finds himself letting the other man rifle through his notes, helping him organize and jotting down a few names of journals Shiro suggest he look into for his thesis defence.

 It’s more work that Keith’s been able to get done all week, and when it’s time for the cafe to close, he decides to pocket the cat treats because he knows he’ll be back.

 

Keith ends up in the cafe again two more times that week, when he doesn’t have his internship with Kolivan and Thace at the observatory across town. An internship is required by his master’s program, and Keith knows he’s extremely lucky to get one that pays, but he can’t help but mourn the time he spends doing something that isn’t his project.

Saturday morning, when he sinks into the plush chair at his regular table, Shiro drops a stack of science and astronomy journals down before moving the chair across from Keith’s a bit closer, so they can sit side by side. Black is lounging across Shiro’s shoulders as usual, and her tail hits Keith’s face as she flicks it back and forth, watching him with a smug expression.

 Keith feels warm and has a hard time concentrating on the specific articles Shiro talks about, but he’s more than willing to blame it on the coffee not kicking in fast enough.

 He also pretends not to be too disappointed when the cafe fills up and the other man is stuck behind the counter or talking to other customers. The woman Keith saw on his first visit is back, and the speckled munchkin, Green, prances between her legs until she takes a seat and lets the little cat climb up her legs and then arms, finally settling on top of her head. The woman laughs and adjusts her glasses, catching Keith’s eye and giving him a little nod before pulling out a laptop and a pile of books.

 Keith gets a lot of work done, but his eyes are heavy and sometime in the early afternoon he rubs his face with his hands, taking a deep breath, and letting his eyes rest. There is a soft touch on his shoulder, and when he turns his head to the side he sees Red perched on its usual table, paw outstretched and resting on Keith’s arm. He blinks slowly at the cat and Red blinks slowly back at him, and after a few breaths, the orange tabby hops off the table and makes Keith’s lap its new home. It looks up at him and makes a small mewing sound and Keith grins, letting his hand rest on the cat’s head and strokes gently down its back. Red starts purring, so loud that Keith is startled such a sound could come from a cat its size.

 “Wow, Red never does that,” Shiro is beside his table, coffee pot in hand and looking at the tabby with a tilted head.

 It’s so cute.

 Keith shrugs and keeps petting the cat. Its purring makes the girl across the cafe look up, Green now sprawled across her laptop keyboard as she reads a thick textbook.

 “Is that _Red?_ ” she asks, mouth dropped open.

 She sets down her book and wanders over to investigate.

 Keith can feel his face reddening at the sudden onslaught of attention and shrugs again.

 “We’re both antisocial,” he grumbles, and Shiro chuckles, refilling his coffee and shuffling off.

 The woman goes back to her own seat shortly after, and Keith is left with a lapful of sleeping tabby.

 Red only moves to drink some water and then wanders back and lays on Keith’s table, tail brushing over his hand as he works. He doesn’t look up again until an empty plate is placed in front of him. He blinks up from his work to see Shiro grinning and rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

 “Allura and I thought you’d want something when we ordered dinner.”

 Sure enough, Keith glances past Shiro to see Allura sorting food boxes on a nearby table. The cafe is completely empty and the chairs are put up.

 Keith flushes, gathering his things quickly and tripping over apologies.

 “Keith,” Allura’s voice is rich and smooth and as warm as her smile, “don’t worry. We would have asked you to leave if you were a burden. Please come eat with us.”

 He looks from Allura’s face to Shiro’s and the older man is smiling, a light dusting of pink across his cheekbones as he lifts Red from the top of Keith’s notebook.

 Keith caves.

 As they eat, Keith learns that Shiro found Black in an alleyway on his way home one night, three years prior. She had been hollering up a storm in an alley, soaking wet from a summer storm, and the moment she saw Shiro she’d sprinted and climbed up to his shoulder, headbutting his jaw. Shiro attempted to warm her in his shirt, but she’d twisted and cried, jumping out of his grasp. She’d stared at him, crying louder before running forward a few paces and turning back making the same soft whine. Shiro followed and she’d led him to a dumpster, where he’d found a black plastic bag full of kittens.

 “She’s their momma,” he says fondly, stroking her gently, “not like by blood but she found them and she led me to them.”

 Red is squashed against Keith’s thigh on the couch where he’s sitting and lets out another loud purr when he pets him.

 “So, I was unemployed with nothing but a big apartment I’d inherited and suddenly the owner of five cats, and I thought, why not? I had the money to start up, and Allura and her uncle both helped a lot--”

 “How long have you been married?” Keith asks, has been dying to ask since his first visit.

 Allura, beautiful, poised, graceful Allura, _snorts_ into her hand.

 “Oh no, no,” she gasps, “I work part time at the veterinary hospital downtown, and here in my free time. Shiro and I are...” she smirks a bit, “ill suited as romantic partners.”

 Shiro’s cheeks seem a bit red and he is suddenly hyper focused on picking something from Black’s fluffy tail.   

 

Keith now spends five nights a week at the cafe, and Allura has stopped charging him entry. He tries to argue, tries even harder when Shiro continues to invite him to stay for dinner, never letting him pay for his share, and they both grin at him. He stuffs a fifty in the tip jar at the counter out of spite, but finds it in his coat pocket at home later that night, folded neatly with a post-it of a silly faced Shiro attached to it.  His face flushes, but he pins it up on his wall anyway.

Shiro gives him more journals to go through each time Keith returns some, and he’s started flagging the articles with more post-its and doodles, each more precious than the next. Soon, Keith’s wall is full of little sketches of Shiro and Allura and the cats, and even a few of himself. His face goes red when he thinks about Shiro, leaning over in concentration, drawing him.

His clothes are almost permanently full of cat hair, but Keith can’t find it in him to mind.

 

Keith is panicking.

His advisor had slipped him an application for a grant program to help with his research and possibly his future PhD proposals, but the program had come in so close to the deadline that Keith found himself sprinting to the cafe.

Now he stands, red faced and chest heaving, staring at the closed door noticing the hours sign for the first time.

_Closed Mondays_

He’s never been able to come on a Monday, usually working at the observatory, but today was a national holiday and so it was closed, and how did he never _read the sign_ before?

Keith lets his head fall against the shut door, banging his forehead against it a few times for good measure. He could always go to the cafe downstairs… the one where Lance drags him to look at girls that he’s too shy to ever talk to.

He turns to leave and hits something solid.

There’s a groan and then Keith realizes he’s slammed straight into Shiro’s chest as he balances the weight of huge bags of cat food and litter under his good arm.

“Keith!” Shiro’s face splits into a bright smile, and then his eyebrows crease as he frowns, “Oh Keith, I’m sorry we’re closed today.”

Keith holds up his hands,

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll just head downstairs-- I never come here Mondays I just got a last minute thing and I--”

Shiro looks from Keith’s overflowing bag to his face, and chuckles.

“Help me with these for a second?” The older man asks, and Keith takes the bags from him as he pulls out his keys and scans the lock pad with his keychain, opening the door and motioning for Keith to follow.

The cafe is dark, all the tables pushed to one side and the normally hidden litter boxes lined up neatly against one wall.

“Mondays are our deep cleaning days,” Shiro says, taking the bags from Keith and setting them on the counter, “Allura’s uncle comes in to take care of the upholstery and floors, and we switch out the litter boxes for clean ones and sanitize these, and then we give the cats baths.”

Keith tries to imagine Black or Red allowing themselves to be bathed and chuckles, shifting the strap of his bag. Shiro smiles at him, and tugs on the sleeve of his coat.

“Come on,” he says lightly, guiding Keith behind the corner and through the door in the kitchen.

Keith expects to be in a storage room, but Shiro actually pulls him into a bright living room, windows streaming in the morning light and a plush black sofa resting against them. He looks around the room and notices other doorways and it dawns on him.

“Shiro, do you _live_ here?” he asks.

“Did you think I just left the cats alone?” the older man chuckles, “Or that I brought them in every day? Nah, I have this floor to myself.”

Keith thinks back to his first time at the cafe, remembering that it was the only business door on the level, and everything makes more sense. He stares out the window for a moment, jumping a bit when he feels Shiro’s hand drop onto his shoulder.

“Sit,” the older man says, motioning to the couch with his prosthetic, “I’ll be busy with the cats and cleaning all morning, so make yourself at home.”

Keith turns, noticing Shiro’s set a chipped red mug of coffee on the table in front of the couch.

“Shiro, I can’t, I can just go to the other place--”

Shiro waves him off with a grin.

“The WiFi is ‘BlackLion’, and there’s more coffee in the warmer, if you need anything just shout.”

Keith reluctantly settles down on the couch, and in a blink, Shiro’s gone.

 

A few hours and one curious trip into the cafe to see where all the loud singing was coming from-- Coran, Allura’s uncle, turns out to be a cleaner by day and a theater star by night and was fully prepared to talk Keith’s ear off until Shiro intervened, looking a bit stressed and wet from bath duty, Keith is finished.

Red snuck into his lap shortly after Keith’s run-in with Coran—the tabby now purring up a storm as Keith closes his laptop.

Shiro stands in the doorway frowning at the ginger cat who blinks slowly at him before burying its head into the pocket of Keith’s hoodie.

“He thinks I won’t try and grab him for a bath if he’s sweet enough to you,” Shiro says, and Keith has to laugh at the look of utter betrayal on his face.

Keith scoops up the cat, curling him into his arms and scratching behind his ears fondly.

The purring stops once Red realizes that Keith has brought him into the bathroom, but Shiro closes the door before he can spring from his arms.

Turns out Red doesn’t _hate_ baths, he tolerates them. What he hates is having to hold still when Shiro takes each paw and trims his claws.

“Blue loves the water, I can barely get him out of the bath,” Shiro says while he works, “he comes in the shower with me sometimes. It freaks Green out. She sits at the door and cries until we both come out. She’s the hardest but chills out if the others are nearby.”

Keith smiles, scratching Red under the chin as he sits unhappily allowing Shiro to take his last paw with a look of disgust.

“I’ve never been around cats before,” Keith admits, and Shiro laughs-- a rich full laugh, not his normal polite chuckle.

“You’re just like a cat,” he says, letting go of Red and opening the door so the cat can dart out of the room, “you fit right in.”

Something about the way Shiro is looking at him makes Keith feel vulnerable. It’s terrifying but it also warms him to his toes. Shiro’s hand is on his wrist and taking a small step forward and then--

 A small meow catches their attention, and they both look down to find Black rubbing herself against Keith’s leg,

 “Huh,” Shiro says, face tinged with pink, “See? You’re one of us now.”

 Shiro invites Keith to stay for dinner, ordering in and turning on a documentary he thought Keith could use as a source for his thesis. It’s touching, really, and the film is interesting, but Keith can’t stop thinking back to the bathroom, Shiro’s hand on his wrist as he’d looked down at him.

The couch is big, but the two of them are pressed thigh to thigh. Shiro’s taken off his prosthetic for the night, and Keith’ finds himself leaning into the empty space of his shoulder.

“Thanks for being my right arm today,” Shiro jokes, but thinking of the older man alone with his five cats makes Keith sad.

“Anytime,” he replies firmly, trying to tell Shiro with his eyes, _you can lean on me, depend on me._

Shiro smiles at that, and Keith tries not to think too much when he leans over a little bit closer.

 

“So this is where you’ve been hiding!’

Keith’s stomach drops and he looks up slowly from his notes.

Lance drops into the chair beside him-- _Shiro’s chair_ \-- and Keith frowns.

“Go away,” he says, turning back to his work, but it’s no use.

Lance is already peeling off his coat and bounding up to the counter to pay, face going pink when Allura turns to help him. Keith’s leg bounces in irritation wondering how the hell the other man found him.

“How the hell did you find me?” he asks flatly when Lance returns, cheeks still flushed as he returns with a cup of tea.

Lance dumbly hands his phone over a Keith sees a photo of himself. He’s cradling Red like a baby and laughing, eyes closed and cheeks red.

The caption says: _Fussy Red loves our favorite Keith!_

Followed by a cat emoji with heart eyes.

 Keith remembers Shiro taking the photo weeks ago, during one of their after-hours dinners, asking if he could post it to the cafe’s social media, but--

 “How the hell do you know Shiro?” he asks, seeing the account that’d posted the photo-- Shiro’s _personal_ account.

 “Shiro?” Lance blinks at him slowly, his hand on Keith’s wrist lowering the phone to look at him, “Takashi _Shiro_ gane, Keith.”

The name clicks in Keith’s mind so quickly he feels _stupid_.

Takashi Shirogane, legendary NASA hopeful, who’d battled a muscular disorder just to go to space. Takashi Shirogane who piloted a damaged ship back to Earth, saving his crew members with his level-headedness. Takashi Shirogane who experienced extreme radiation poisoning that worsened his condition to the point the the doctors amputated his arm. Takashi Shirogane who Iverson talks about with glowing pride at least once a week in the middle of his lecture.

Takashi Shirogane, _Shiro_ , who is now standing beside the table looking between Keith and Lance, and then at Lance’s hand where it rests on Keith’s wrist with a crease in his brow and his mouth turned down in an uncharacteristic frown. He refills Keith’s coffee silently, eyes averted.

“More hot water?” He asks Lance, and his voice sounds… off.

Lance looks up and leaps to his feet.

“Mr. Shirogane, it’s an honor, sir,” he says pushing out his hand to shake, but it’s his right hand and Shiro looks down at his hard prosthetic and then back at Lance’s hand before offering his left instead. Lance colors at his mistake and shakes with his left, and then Shiro is gone behind the counter, through the door to his apartment, closing the door behind him with a thud.

Lance throws himself into the chair dramatically, throwing his arm over his face.

“I’m such an idiot!”

Keith agrees, turning to his work, trying not to keep one eye on the door hoping that Shiro will come back out with his easy smile and warm eyes.

He doesn’t.

 

Kolivan and Thace need extra hands as the Lyrids approach, and Keith is feeling high strung between the additional shifts and his thesis defence looming in the near future. He hasn’t been to the cafe in a full week, and finds himself missing the cats and Shiro. He feels uncomfortable with the way Shiro’s face had looked when Lance introduced himself, and even more so when he thinks of the decisive slam of the door right afterwards, but he doesn’t have _time_ to drop in for another few days.

He leaves the observatory agitated after a long shift, phone dead from blasting music in the empty presentation hall as he readied it for a huge seminar the next day. He’s annoyed enough to walk-- okay _stomp_ \-- down the mountainside rather than take a ride from his bosses, needing to let off some frustration. It’s late and dark, but Keith likes the way the wind rustles the leaves and the moon lights the road.

He makes his way into town slowly, considering stopping in for a beer when he hears rustling in a nearby bush. The park is closed after dark, but he stops, listening intently. A soft mewl comes from the foliage and the sound makes his heart drop. Another strangled cry comes, a bit louder and more heartbreaking than the first, and Keith can’t stop himself from diving into the bushes searching for the source of that sound.

It’s a bit of a struggle, the plants hiding the animal are thorned and scrape Keith’s hands. He hears fabric rip a bit and takes a second to mourn his favorite red coat, but only a second because the cries get louder and more pleading. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pocket knife, cutting his way through dense branches.

It’s a cat.

He’s smaller than black, but his fur could be the same fluffy length if it was clean. As it is, it’s dirty and matted. The cat has thorns stuck in tangles of fur and his tail looks bent at an unnatural angle. It looks at Keith with round eyes, one blue and one green, glowing in the street lights. After a few more minutes and infinitely more scratches, he’s able to reach in and pull it out.

He’s surprised at how calm the cat is, expecting it to claw or bolt, but it just gives a pathetic whine and lets Keith stow it in his coat. He holds it as close to his body as he can and then he runs.

He pounds desperately on the cafe door, ears straining. It’s a Monday night, deep cleaning day, but it's also _late_ and Keith hopes that Shiro is still awake at this hour. The cat is still curled tight against Keith’s stomach, whining every few minutes and blinking slowly up at him.

“Shiro!” Keith shouts, eyes burning with frightened tears, slamming his fist against the door hard enough hurt his hand, and finally, _finally_ the door cracks open.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice is rough with sleep, and he stands in the doorway in just a pair of pajama pants.

His skin glows in the moonlight, chest littered with scars and his prosthetic is gone, taken off for the day. Keith sighs in relief and pushes his way in, pulling the animal out of his coat with care.

Shiro’s sleepy eyes widen, and suddenly the older man is fully alert, taking Keith by the elbow and pulling him into the main apartment. The lights are on and a movie is playing in the living room, blanket tossed on the couch, but Shiro doesn’t linger there, instead walking Keith to another door.

Shiro opens it in a rush and it takes a moment for Keith to realize he’s in Shiro’s bedroom. His face flushes for a moment, but Shiro grabs his phone off the bedside table and pushes another door open, motioning for Keith to follow him into his ensuite bathroom.

“Allura, Keith found a cat, I think it’s tail is broken and there’s blood in it’s fur but I can’t tell where it’s hurt because it’s covered in dirt,” Shiro’s voice is low, and fast as he turns on the water of his bathtub, his phone tucked between his head and shoulder, “I’m going to try and bathe it, hopefully it’ll be okay by the time you get here.”

His eyes flick to Keith, and he shifts a bit, face pressing harder to his phone. Keith takes the hint and retrieves it for him so he can dig through bottles of cat shampoos until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Can you help me?” Shiro asks, “I don’t know if it's going to like the water much and I don’t exactly have uh…”

He motions pathetically to his right side, and Keith nods, gently passing the cat to Shiro and slipping off his torn up coat. He hears Shiro gasp and glances down at the cuts on his arms. The wounds are shallow but messy, and also not the priority right now.

Together they set the cat into the water, and it shudders, looking up at them with sad eyes. Keith holds its body still as Shiro gently works the shampoo into it’s fur.

There is a heavy weight on Keith’s back and he nearly lets go of the squirming wet cat in his hands when he realizes Black has climbed onto him, investigating. Shiro huffs, mumbling about how the cats know better than to come into his room, but he doesn’t move to kick the big cat out.

Black lets out a soft mew, moving to the edge of the tub, and the other cat calms, letting Shiro and Keith rinse its fur, fingertips brushing every so often. They need to drain the water three times due to the amount of mud, and Keith is shocked to find that the cat’s fur is a beautiful, pure white.

Allura arrives just as Keith is attempting to wrap the cat up in a soft towel and takes it out of his hands. He moves to follow her back out to the kitchen but her eyes are on his bloodied arms and she gives him a _look_ that has him freezing in his tracks. He can hear Coran’s voice in the kitchen, and lets his shoulders slump in defeat when Shiro touches his back, sitting on the edge of the tub and holding out his forearms.

Shiro cleans the cuts carefully, mouth twitching when he brushes something deep enough to make Keith wince. The older man is quiet, and it strikes Keith how much he _missed_ him and how much he hates this silence. Shiro puts down the cloth and grabs a tube of ointment, handing it to Keith to open and squeeze onto the other man’s fingers.

Shiro is gentle, _so_ gentle as he works, checking over each arm thoroughly and carefully. It makes Keith’s chest ache. He holds the gauze for Shiro as he wraps each of his forearms-- fingertips rough, but touch soft and a soft pink tint on his face.

Keith can’t stop himself from reaching out, cupping a hand to the older man’s cheek. He presses his forehead against Shiro’s, the fingers of his other hand gripping a strong shoulder.

Shiro’s hand is on his knee, warmth seeping through the denim of Keith’s jeans, and suddenly Shiro is sitting back, pulling away.

“It’s late, you should let your boyfriend know you’re okay.”

Keith blinks at him in confusion.

 “Huh?”

 “The guy who’s been coming here with you, cute but kinda loud--”

 “ _Lance_?” the repulsion must show clearly on his face, because suddenly Shiro bursts out laughing, covering his face with his hand as it burns red.

Keith feels scandalized by the idea that Shiro, beautiful, sensitive, kind Shiro had thought Lance was someone that Keith would date, and then it hits him low in the stomach.

Shiro had been _jealous_.

Okay maybe not jealous, because the idea of someone being jealous of _Lance_ was just too much. But still, Shiro had been _upset_ , and it makes it easy for Keith to join Shiro on the floor and pull his hand from his face.

It’s even easier to kiss him, cheeks burning, clothes wet and cat hair everywhere.

It’s perfect.

 

It’s been a few months, but Shiro has _finally_ agreed to hire another employee, a kind but mischievous culinary student named Hunk who elevates their closing time dinners from junk to gourmet whenever the mood strikes him-- Shiro claims the new hire was a congratulatory gesture for Keith when he was accepted to his PhD program, but Keith knows better, an upgraded prosthetic, six cats and a live-in partner have made Shiro want more free time.

It’s Hunk who messages Keith with bad news, and Keith does his best to stop and breathe calmly before entering the cafe. He needs a moment to prepare himself so he doesn’t fly off the handle.

“What have you done,” he demands as he enters, and Lance has the decency to look guilty as his fingers bury in soft ginger hair.

Red looks up at Keith for a moment, amused, and then presses his face into Lance’s stomach with a loud purr.

His arms are crossed and he frowns at the two, even as he feels arms wind around his waist and soft fur against his neck.

“Baby,” Shiro murmurs as Black steps gingerly from his shoulder to Keith’s and makes herself comfortable, “Don’t be angry, Red finally feels safe, isn’t that what’s important? Black likes you now, and little White, too.”

Keith replies with a _hmph_ , but turns in Shiro’s arms.

“ _You_ better still like me the most,” he threatens, and Shiro laughs, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who humored me while I tried not to make the entire fic about the cats.


End file.
